Close Up (Jan-Jun 1929)

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CLOSE UP burst into a torrent of wailing and apology. " O, a dead bodv ... a dead body . . . there is no such thing as a dead body on the screen. . One remembered an anecdote he had told, quietlv and with no acumen, no hint of bitterness, of some half-dozen or more of his companions in their internment camp who, technically imprisoned and detained, had, after four hideous mutilated years of waiting, deliberately killed themselves after the armistice. The Valley of the Shadow of Death " has touched each one of us, perhaps none so poignantly as this vivid, sensitive Austrian artist, who, ignorant that war had even been declared, w^as seized with his companions on a returning New York passenger ship and, vibrating with his love of life and love of love and beauty, was buried dead-alive in that particular crowded barracks. Mr. Pabst touched lightly enough on incidents of his companions who died there naturally (if such a w^ord can ironically be used in this connection) during the period of war activity. He became hilarious and gay at the mention of the young French officers w^ho (in the now credited stage and screen manner) made friends for the sake of whiling away tedium of forced inactivity and isolation. He makes more than a movie set of the young Americans who assisted the prisoners with the perilous underground tunnel from their dug-out, so that certain of their number could periodically escape " for an hour or two, to get warm and have a chat and, one hopes, some little snack of those then so justly famous tinned pork and beans in the friendly enem^y quarters. All a game ... a somewhat grim and ironical performance (so he seems to intimate), but none to blame, not certainly that debonnaire French officer and that cluster of superficially 67